


Comfort

by Luce



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 04:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13779495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luce/pseuds/Luce
Summary: Just a post-apocalypse snippet I had rolling around in my mind.Erik's grief and healing.May become more.Unbeta-ed.





	Comfort

Erik wouldn't let Charles ease his grief over Magda and Nina's deaths but he could still feel his pain as if cradled. A blanket of warmth that held the good memories of their lives as close to Erik's heart as the hurt of their loss.

 

He wanted to chide Charles for it but the newness of their regained closeness helped him see the depth of Charles' regard for him in the gesture and the earnestness with which he tried to ease Erik's presence at the mansion.

Rebuilding the closeness of his bond with Charles seemed to take less time than rebuilding the mansion even with his and Jean's special help. All of a sudden it was as if he never left. As if nothing after getting on the plane bound for Cuba had ever happened. 

The chess was challenging, the scotch satisfyingly strong and the discussions an uplifting mental exercise, as if his mind was stretching muscles dormant for too long.

Some measure of peace seemed to have reached him in Westchester of all places.

Just after they moved all the students and any salvaged possessions back into the newly rebuilt mansion, Erik found himself staring at a small black rail perched in a low branch of a nearby tree and he could very nearly see Nina's smile, telling him excitedly about a new friend. As he entered the house, he realised there had been a pang of sadness and melancholy, but hardly any pain - he wanted to accuse Charles of messing with his mind but he knew it was his own soul healing and maybe his friend did help with the process but his powers were most certainly not the means.

Suddenly he felt an urge to see Charles, to talk to him, so strong he found himself latching onto the sense of the wheelchair and veritably racing through the corridor by the kitchen, up the West wing stairs and down a corridor to the room closest to the elevator (an addition to the house he was particularly proud of both functionally and aesthetically).

Charles was stopped in front of the large windows facing the rose garden, hands in his lap instead of on the armrests of his chair, head bowed as if fascinated by his upturned palms.


End file.
